


The City Beneath the Mountain

by VvardenfellVixen



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adopted Children, Aicantar - Freeform, Altmer (Elder Scrolls), BABY ELVES!!!!, Calcelmo - Freeform, Cyrodiil (Elder Scrolls), Dwemer - Freeform, Dwemer Scholars, Elder Scrolls NPC, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim References, Elves, Emotional Roller Coaster, Family Dynamic, Fantasy, Love, Magicka, Markarth, NPC Backstories, Raising a Child, Resentment, Sad and Sweet, Skyrim - Freeform, Summerset Isles, Unconventional Families, Undesired Parenthood, Wizards
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:47:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27568507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VvardenfellVixen/pseuds/VvardenfellVixen
Summary: With the passing of his sister, Calcelmo is left alone with his newly born nephew. Life is difficult enough in the slums of the Summerset city of Dusk and he struggles to find anyone who truly appreciates his passion for the lost Dwemer culture. After a series of events sways him, Calcelmo decides that his destiny lies outside of the Summerset Isles and begins his journey that inevitably leads to his role as court wizard of Markarth and head researcher of Nchuand-zel's excavation, which could not have been achieved without the aid of his young nephew and his prodigious intellect.No doubt about it, these two need each other in more ways than one.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This one is a little bit different than what I normally write. I really felt like the writers of Bethesda wanted to do so much more with these characters because the way they were written seemed much too shallow. So this is my head canon. I've been working on this backstory for Calcelmo and Aicantar because I want to know how an old scholar and his nephew ended up in a place like Markarth to research the Dwemer. I really like their dynamic and wanted to go on this journey with them. And with other writings I've been working on (and have yet to post, eeek!), Aicantar has really grown to be something special to me. So I commandeered these characters.
> 
> I hope you enjoy my telling of their story.
> 
> **[Content Warning to those who may be tokophobic!]**

It was late morning on the 23rd of Hearthfire. Waves crashed viciously against the cliffs of Summerset isles. The monsoon season peaked and the storms raged on while Calcelmo held his dear sister's hand. The poor elf woman had gone through so much already with the passing of her husband late the year before. He was a hard-working fisherman whose efforts supplied much of the city with food. Illness had gotten the better of him just before she'd found out she was with child. Now here Calcelmo sat with her while she pushed weakly, her gentle golden face ashen, tearful gold-green eyes sunken in and weary, brow drenched with perspiration. They only had one another now.

The woman took a moment to smile at her brother regardless of the agony she endured through this difficult labor. "I'm glad you're here with me." Her voice was so weak Calcelmo could barely hear her through the rain beating mercilessly upon the roof. Though the elf clung tenaciously to hope, he knew in his heart she would not survive giving birth. The pregnancy had taken more than a toll on her and she knew it too. "I love you, dear brother."

"I love you too, sweet sister." Calcelmo squeezed her hand more tightly and she tried to do it back, but lacked the gripping strength. The midwife spooned a medicine into her mouth to ease her pain and hopefully help her birth canal to expand to the appropriate size. Of course it couldn't be simple.

What a shame for her to give birth in a dirty shack. She should have been surrounded by lavish pillows and all the best healers and apothecaries in all of Tamriel. Yet here they were shivering beneath a leaky roof in the damp cold. The good life in the slums of Dusk.

Calcelmo had been with his sister all night praying to the divines for strength or any sort of miracle, but alas, they ignored him. The midwife grew concerned for the baby's health. "If this child doesn't come soon Calcelmo, it may die." She passed a mournful glance at him to also remind him his sister was on borrowed time.

"What should we do?" the golden elf pulled nervously at his blonde beard and never released his sister's frail hand from his other. "Please my dear. You have to try."

A jolt of pain shot through her abdomen like white-hot fire and she screamed. The midwife jumped to her aid at once. "Yes, I know my dear," the midwife sympathized. "You have to do this for me. For your brother. For the baby."

Calcelmo's sister writhed, her chest heaved rapidly. After suffering most of the previous day and the entire night, she at last gave it her all. The midwife kept a close eye on her. Her remedy had not dilated her nearly enough for the child to pass through. She glanced hopelessly again at Calcelmo. The tall elf kissed his sister's hand and whispered "please." How much more would they have to endure?

As the moments passed, the midwife grew more desperate. She had seen many difficult births in her time and knew how to handle just about any dire situation, but this pitiful, yet beautiful creature before her was as good as dead.

"I'm so sorry Calcelmo..." his sister spoke gruffly. Soon her rough breaths dwindled, her golden green eyes glazed over and she was no more. Calcelmo wept. The midwife rested her hand on his shoulder and only allowed him a few moments of grief before the situation became too critical.

"You don't have to be in here for this part, love."

Calcelmo knew what had to be done, and he left the room quietly dreading the butchery of his beloved sibling. In about half an hour, he heard the midwife coo and the ragged cries of a freshly extracted life. He waited for a time, nervous and frightened until the midwife invited him in. "Come now, Calcelmo. Come see your handsome nephew."

The mer's ears perked. A little boy? He thought he would be more excited if he saw him, but he accidentally caught a glimpse of his perished sister, who the midwife graciously covered to mask the gore beneath the sheets. When he saw the infant, he took delight at first and even requested to hold him while the midwife cleaned up a few things. He recalled the conversation they had a few months ago about names. She was so bright and happy then, clearly thrilled about motherhood. Or frightened. He couldn't quite tell.

Calcelmo couldn't believe a being could be so small. Altmer were known for being very tall, and it surprised him how small his kind were in their infancy. The tiny creature wriggled in his arms, still sticky with blood and fluids, peach in color from overstaying his welcome in the womb. Part of this little one's head started to dry, causing his tuft of thin wheat blonde hair to stick up. “Aicantar for a boy, she had said.” The slender golden elf held the fragile new being with care and ran his large thumb over the child's lanolin-soft, wrinkled forehead.

And suddenly he hated the thing. What was he supposed to do now? His sister was dead, his brother-in-law long gone, and here he stood during one of the worst storms he'd ever seen in his long elven life. He never wanted to be a father? How could she do this to him?! How could she...die? Die and leave him alone...

“Calcelmo?” The midwife touched his shoulder and he jumped. “Dear, you're in shock.” The old Altmer woman sighed. She looked how Calcelmo felt. “We can't go out in this storm...we'll have to wait it out.”

He knew that meant sleeping in the same house as his deceased sibling. His heart sunk.

The woman reached out. “Bring him here, my dear. He needs his mother's first milk for nutrients. While it's still warm...”

Calcelmo's expression distorted into something beyond disgust. He knew it was important and that she never intended any insensitivity, but the visual of a baby suckling from his dead sister's teat repulsed him. It made his decision so much easier...


	2. Chapter 2

It took a few days for the tropical storms to subside, but it was finally clear enough that he could make his way to the nearest legal office where he could handle all his affairs regarding his perished sister and newborn nephew. The coroner had finally removed her body from their home to prepare for the burial. The midwife helped him with care for a time before returning home to her own family.

“Just you and me now, boy.” But not for much longer.

Calcelmo checked into the establishment and waited. The personnel worked for the city council, in lieu of the steward. The city was so vast that services were subbed out by district. And Calcelmo lived in the unwealthy portion of the city. Care and compassion was rather incommensurate.

“I'll be with you shortly,” a snobby looking Altmer with urine yellow hair and equally yellow skin scrawled on parchments scattered across his desk. A single city guard stood inside with his arms in front of him by the threshold.

This was taking and insubordinate amount of time. Calcelmo was the only one in the office and no one seemed particularly busy. “Excuse me sir, but my sister just died a few days ago. I really need to get my affairs in order as soon as possible.”

The skinny yellow mer scoffed. “Well she's certainly not going anywhere, then.”

The tips of Calcelmo's pointed ears heated. “It will only take a few moments for the death certificate. Please?”

Sighing like he'd been bothered nonstop all day, he threw his quill back into the inkwell and stomped to a nearby desk to shuffle through papers, walked back and plopped his lazy backside back into his plush chair. “Well come on then.”

The fair gold baby Aicantar, who was tightly swaddled, fussed slightly. Calcelmo bounced him lightly to calm him as he took a seat across from this nasty man.

“Name?”

Calcelmo recited his name in full and then his sister's.

“Are we registering this little chap today? He looks fresh out of the oven.”

Calcelmo wasn't particularly fond of the condescending way the other elf said it, but he cleared his throat, “Yes, I suppose so.”

They took care of the death first, the man asked an array of specific life details and legal questions. “Did the deceased have a will?”

“No,” Calcelmo stated with certainty. After all, the woman was still quite young in respect to a mer's lifespan, she probably never expected to die so suddenly.

“So no specific or clandestine inheritance to worry about then. Can't say I'm surprised.”

With his sister's death so fresh on his mind, it proved very difficult for Calcelmo not to say something.

The official continued like nothing was said. “The home was owned by the husband, the husband is also perished, next of kin gets the house...looks like you're next in line then, Master Calcelmo. The home and all its effects will be transferred to you, and that information will be notarized in Dusk's main office at the keep.”

Calcelmo couldn't bear hearing this. It made it too real. She was really gone. The warm golden baby squirmed in his arms and made a sound similar to that of a crying housecat.

The official pursed his lips and made an annoyed sound. “Yours?”

“He's my nephew, actually. He was just born when—”

“Ah, I see,” the tactless elf cut him off. “Are you looking to adopt then?”

“Well...” Calcelmo began uneasily. “Not exactly.”

Nose upturned, he rummaged for another group of forms for Calcelmo to fill out regarding the child's personal information and another revoking his rights to Aicantar and bestowing them to the state. The process wasn't difficult, but slow, and with each passing moment and every stroke of the quill, Calcelmo felt more numb. The child wriggled once more and turned his little round face into his uncle's chest. _I have nothing to offer you, little one,_ he thought. _You deserve better than me._ Aicantar would be better off under someone else's care, surely.

“At least he won't have to grow up in that shithole.”

That phrase in particular did not sit right with Calcelmo. It crossed his ears and entered his brain like a hot blade, the pupils in his amber eyes shrunk, his bronze lip twitched irritably beneath his wheat blonde mustache.

“We're done,” said the official. “Your documents will be in the post in a few days time, notarized and filed. Since there are no other known family members, you do not need to attend court. Then the caretakers from the orphanage will schedule a time to pick up the baby. Good day to you, sir.”

Clearly the man just wanted Calcelmo out as soon as possible. How could anyone be so unempathetic? Outside, a chilling wind from the post storm cold front blew through which discontented little Aicantar, and he fussed some more. Calcelmo wrapped him inside his woolen robe and trudged toward home, hotheaded from his encounter with that foul elf.

Home? What was home anyway? No, this was a mere structure, now. A shell. Home is where you are loved and in good company. After the midwife had gone, Calcelmo had no one. Eerily silent aside from the wind whistling through the cracks. No humming tunes in the kitchen while his sister made lunch. None of her incessant and almost aggressive sweeping on the rough and deeply gouged floorboards. It was futile to try to clean it, but she still tried like hell.

His brother-in-law was a delight of a man, always in high spirits and truly selfless. He worked so hard to provide for his darling wife. But he took great care of Calcelmo too. He didn't have to, but he always encouraged the mage to keep working towards his goals when no one else believed in him. He couldn't do any of that if he worked all day every day like he did. Most of his peers thought his endeavors useless and he was often called a freeloader. “Why don't you learn a trade? What's a dead race of people going to do for you? Put that magic to some practical use, Calcelmo. Wasted potential.”

The Dwemer—or Deep Elves—fascinated Calcelmo ever since he was a boy. Technologies beyond all measure. And they forsook all divines and magic. And that's all anyone knew of them. One day they vanished without a trace.

And Calcelmo _needed_ to know _why_.

The impoverished Altmer were so much different than the Altmer of high society. They saw no use for such things. Perhaps they were simple. Or perhaps the wealthy truly had nothing better to do with their time.

That simple fisherman always supported Calcelmo and nurtured his interests. On occasion, he'd return from his long fishing trips with Dwemer “artifacts.” They were nothing tremendously special or rare, but it was the thought that mattered. The sheer fact that he thought Calcelmo would love them—and he did, every last object down to the miniscule cogs. The items that elf brought to him were also not entirely useless. Calcelmo fashioned together all kinds of things with those spare parts, even the broken pieces. Nothing a little arc magic couldn't weld together. Anything and everything was valuable for understanding the Dwemer culture and their advanced technology. Books upon books, notes upon notes. He'd been in and out of so many ruins and took part in so many excavations. All those structures and mechanisms still functioning independently. Fascinating and full of secrets that their current society needed to know.

A good man. A great man. And a wonderful husband to his dear late sister. Both would be sorely missed. Tears streamed down his face as he remembered their wedding day. Her husband-to-be was so nervous about displeasing her that he ended up drinking a few too many, and at the meager alter, he confessed his undying love for her—again. She laughed and then she kissed him. And that was that. Calcelmo hoped within his heart of hearts that the two of them were dancing together again in Aetherius.

The baby began to make whining cat sounds again, and this time he meant business. “Don't worry little one. We're going to the market for goat and indrik milk and a few other items...I didn't know you could milk an indrik. Well...I know you _could_...but the question is _should_ you? Anyway, that's what the midwife told us to do, since you no longer have your mother's breast.”

He felt foolish trying to converse with a handful of days old infant. Though the rumble of his voice within his chest against his brand new and delicate pointed ears managed to calm him some. He opened his thin pale gold eyelids to peek as if he had his full attention. It was the first time he'd opened them. His eyes were dark hunter green, nearly black, just like Calcelmo's little sister's eyes had been when she was newly born before they finished their development. Something about it warmed his heart and he smirked. “You're going to have pretty green-gold eyes some day just like your mother.”

This little creature in his arms, he wasn't even a person yet, more like a frail juvenile imp. Everything on him seemed so breakable...and weirdly soft. Calcelmo didn't like how squishy Aicantar felt. Too damn soft. He was afraid he might squish him.

He settled in at home after the market trip. The roof finally stopped pissing all over after the storms. He hadn't the time now to re-thatch the holes now that the rain let up. Or he'd have to make the time by strapping Aicantar to his back.

 _No...I'll have plenty of time soon_ , he thought. _I won't have to do that._

He warmed the concoction of milks and herbs over the fire until it was near body temperature and he settled down in his chair with Aicantar to feed him with the bottle the midwife gave him especially for this. It emulated a nipple well enough. Calcelmo even squirted himself in the eye with it after he'd curiously moved the fleshy bit to the side. He supposed it was quite spot on, really. He was still too young when his sister was a baby, so he didn't need to help much during her infancy. It was woman stuff anyway. This was all quite new and foreign to him. But the child needed his nourishment.

The poor little thing must have been starving, for Calcelmo had no issue feeding him. “Not so piggish, little one. You're going to choke.”

He did a little bit, and he cried when some exited his nostril, but Calcelmo wiped it away and rocked him lightly, patting his back. This time he took the bottle more calmly and he fell asleep during feeding. The elf sighed and watched the sleeping creature for a few moments, with his rapid infant breaths and petite gold nose, peachy on the little round end. Perhaps he was beginning to have second thoughts. No. He'll have a better life, he thought. Both of them will. For now, he would do what was necessary until the orphanage came to retrieve the child.

Since there was nowhere else to leave Aicantar, he created a makeshift carrier with a sheet so he could have full use of his hands to work and bring in some money. Calcelmo did most of his work at the potion shop, stocking shelves, writing labels. He was afraid to make mixtures with Aicantar so close by, after all, he didn't want the little thing to get chemical burns or scalded, and the shopkeepers seemed fine enough with the work he could do for them, and his vast knowledge of alchemical recipes aided significantly. It wasn't much, but it put food on the table until he could get back into the Dwemer ruins again and continue his research. Aicantar slept most of the time anyway until he was hungry or soiled. Calcelmo forgot he was there sometimes and had to feel at his chest to be sure the baby hadn't vanished into thin air like the beings he scrawled about in his journals. Whenever he'd peek down, Aicantar was always turned towards his chest emitting the faintest infantile snores like a cat on a hearth, occasionally squeaking out a cry as tiny as he was before falling right back to sleep.

He wondered how long that blessing would last. After all, the child was still in his early developmental stages. Still growing. There's no way he'd be so restful forever. This was the easy part. Then he would start to walk. What then? He'd never be able to get anything done chasing an elf toddler around. No, he wasn't cut out for such a thing.

At day's end, Calcelmo locked up the shop for the night. His stomach growled loudly and his mouth was dry. He supposed it wouldn't hurt to treat himself to a hot meal and some ale at the tavern. The slop at home only filled the hole, but was less than gratifying. He missed his sister. She could make the worst food palatable.

The baby passed gas and he caught a whiff, grimacing at the odor. “Suppose I should get you cleaned up.”

Once Aicantar was fresh again, he meandered down the block for some food. He held the bottle while Aicantar suckled and waited to be served. A lovely Redguard woman with cinnamon skin and tightly braided black hair served him. He hadn't seen her around before, for it was rare to see any race besides Altmer and Bosmer in Summerset. The man blushed at her beauty. “Such a precious child.” Her blue eyes wrinkled with happiness and her plump burgundy lips curled into a lovely smile, which melted Calcelmo. “What's his name?”

“Aicantar,” he replied. “Um, my nephew. My sister passed away and I'm caring for him.”

“That's so brave of you to take him on like that.” She smoothed away Aicantar's single lock of blond hair with the gentle touch of a loving mother that seemed to soothe the infant.

A ceaseless guilt flowed into the pit of Calcelmo's stomach. He cleared his throat. “Yes, yes of course.”

“How may I serve you tonight, sir?”

He made his order and when she had gone, took notice of the warm, wriggling child-worm against his body. Why are you so warm? His eyes were open again, staring with that empty newborn gaze, unblinking, absorbing...learning. Calcelmo sighed heavily, the weight of the world around him crashing down on top of him. _You can have a chance at so much more..._

Dinner wasn't so great either. It was hot and fresh, but he hardly enjoyed it. Maybe it was the mood he was in. But at least the hunger was gone. Aicantar fell asleep with the bottle in his mouth, heated to the perfect temperature from resting against Calcelmo's body. He seemed content enough, to say the least. So innocent. Lucky. He didn't even have the slightest idea that his mother was gone, nor did it faze him. Freedom from emotion must have been a true blessing. What a shame that maturity would corrupt such a quality and reality would rear itself with no telling of how the little elf would take it. No crueler thing than to be simply _born_.

Aicantar's miniature hand had managed to work its way out from his blankets and latched securely to Calcelmo's thumb, though he did not wake. “Let's go home, little one,” Calcelmo spoke softly.

One little shop in the market along the way remained open, though they were in the process of dousing their torches for the night. Odds and ends objects and a few child's toys. A stuffed griffon with buttons for eyes caught Calcelmo's eye. “Excuse me, how much for this?” he asked the shopkeeper.

“Two septims,” the stocky wood elf replied. “A little something for the little fella, eh? You know what, you just take that on home then. I just locked my safe and I don't feel like opening it again. What's a pair of coins anyway?” He winked a deep mahogany eye at him.

“Divines smile on you for your generosity.” The Bosmer's kindness rendered Calcelmo truly humbled.

“He'll love it. Got some of those for my own kids at home too. Poor things have seen better days. Hope he's loved until he falls apart just like those stuffies at home.”

Calcelmo didn't understand why that statement made him feel so sick to his stomach. “Blessed night to you, sir.”

“Aye. To you as well.”

When all was said and done, with baby Aicantar tucked away in his bassinet for the night, now clasped to the stubby leg of his new stuffed griffon rather than his uncle's thumb, Calcelmo slumbered heavily from the weariness that had overtaken him. It was the finest sleep he'd had in weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suppose I unintentionally channeled Mando and The Child here...
> 
> Oh well, we all know the outcome.


End file.
